a mortuary, nobody would die.”
“Jared — ”
“So if you have any painting needs, I’ll swap you for a bed.”
“You don’t need to swap anything,” Dallas said. “This is home. Remember? The peas in the pot?”
When he was little, maybe five, he heard the expression just like two peas in a pod and somehow got it in his mind that the four of them — him, his mom and dad and sister, Cara — were four peas in a pot . He kept saying it that way, until the family adopted it.
Jared closed his eyes and nodded.
“All right then,” Dallas said. “Let me get you something to eat.”
12.
It’s the silence that kills.
The theory of the penitentiary was that it would be a place of penitence. Stick a man in a cage and make him think about his black soul.
It works.
Of course, many of those held in isolation in the old days went crazy.
It’s the silence that kills.
They built this jail back in the sixties. It’s a big concrete block. Inside, a labyrinth of corridors, rows of cells, and metal gates. Garbage bags and sheets hang from cell doors to keep inquiring eyes from looking in. Shouts, curses, and clanging doors echo through the facility, which is penetrated here and there by a few shafts of sunlight.
But the silence remains for the celebrity inmates, like me. And in the silence, faces haunt you.
Faces. I see the faces of those I love.
Cara. My lovely daughter. She came to see me today and cried and I couldn’t hold her. So I see her face now, wet with tears even as she told me she loved me, and the vision torments me.
Jared. Wherever he is. His face is troubled, and so it troubles me.
Dallas. I see her face all the time. I can’t reach out to it; it just hovers over me. Hurt look. Accusing eyes. She tries to hide them. Can’t.
Yet these are not the only faces I see.
Melinda.
Even since her death, I see her face. It screams at me.
Like a demon.
FOUR
1.
At least he was doing something other than wallowing in selfdisgust. Still, Jared felt stupid behind the wheel of his mother’s SUV. He was not a soccer mom. But he was, for the moment, a delivery service.
Delivering people, one of them to his own bed.
His mother — cleverly now, he realized, to get him moving — had asked him to pick up this woman and her kid and bring them home.
Now this was going to be strange. Here was a woman with a face that had been through things. Her kid, only six. Jared thought of all the children he’d watched in the park. That crack in his heart that ached for them throbbed again now. What chance did a kid like this have with a father who beat up on his mom? What chance did any kid have these days?
On the way to the house, the woman named Tiana said, “Your mom’s a good person.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, she didn’t have to do this.”
“That’s my mom. Always taking in stray . . . looking out for people.” He wondered what Tiana’s boyfriend was like, and why a girl stayed with somebody who slapped her around. He’d been with women. He didn’t quite get them.
“You were in the Marines?” she said.
“My mom tell you about me?”
“A little. Jamaal wants to be in the Marines.”
The boy was belted in the backseat. A six-year-old wanting to be in the Marines. How quaint.
“Tell him to go into football instead,” Jared said.
“Mama, is he in the Marines?” The boy’s voice was tissue-paper thin.
“Yeah, baby.”
60
“In war?”
Tiana asked Jared, “You been in war?”
“Can it, will you?” Jared snapped, though pulling the punch
a little. “Tell me how come you stay with a guy who knocks you around.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“You got a woman?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then you don’t know.”
Jared realized he was gunning the SUV too fast down Devonshire. He let up a little. If you’re going to crash, do it when nobody’s in the car with you.
“You seen your dad?” Tiana said.
“What are you talking about?” He knew what she was talking
“Jared — ”
“So if you have any painting needs, I’ll swap you for a bed.”
“You don’t need to swap anything,” Dallas said. “This is home. Remember? The peas in the pot?”
When he was little, maybe five, he heard the expression just like two peas in a pod and somehow got it in his mind that the four of them — him, his mom and dad and sister, Cara — were four peas in a pot . He kept saying it that way, until the family adopted it.
Jared closed his eyes and nodded.
“All right then,” Dallas said. “Let me get you something to eat.”
12.
It’s the silence that kills.
The theory of the penitentiary was that it would be a place of penitence. Stick a man in a cage and make him think about his black soul.
It works.
Of course, many of those held in isolation in the old days went crazy.
It’s the silence that kills.
They built this jail back in the sixties. It’s a big concrete block. Inside, a labyrinth of corridors, rows of cells, and metal gates. Garbage bags and sheets hang from cell doors to keep inquiring eyes from looking in. Shouts, curses, and clanging doors echo through the facility, which is penetrated here and there by a few shafts of sunlight.
But the silence remains for the celebrity inmates, like me. And in the silence, faces haunt you.
Faces. I see the faces of those I love.
Cara. My lovely daughter. She came to see me today and cried and I couldn’t hold her. So I see her face now, wet with tears even as she told me she loved me, and the vision torments me.
Jared. Wherever he is. His face is troubled, and so it troubles me.
Dallas. I see her face all the time. I can’t reach out to it; it just hovers over me. Hurt look. Accusing eyes. She tries to hide them. Can’t.
Yet these are not the only faces I see.
Melinda.
Even since her death, I see her face. It screams at me.
Like a demon.
FOUR
1.
At least he was doing something other than wallowing in selfdisgust. Still, Jared felt stupid behind the wheel of his mother’s SUV. He was not a soccer mom. But he was, for the moment, a delivery service.
Delivering people, one of them to his own bed.
His mother — cleverly now, he realized, to get him moving — had asked him to pick up this woman and her kid and bring them home.
Now this was going to be strange. Here was a woman with a face that had been through things. Her kid, only six. Jared thought of all the children he’d watched in the park. That crack in his heart that ached for them throbbed again now. What chance did a kid like this have with a father who beat up on his mom? What chance did any kid have these days?
On the way to the house, the woman named Tiana said, “Your mom’s a good person.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, she didn’t have to do this.”
“That’s my mom. Always taking in stray . . . looking out for people.” He wondered what Tiana’s boyfriend was like, and why a girl stayed with somebody who slapped her around. He’d been with women. He didn’t quite get them.
“You were in the Marines?” she said.
“My mom tell you about me?”
“A little. Jamaal wants to be in the Marines.”
The boy was belted in the backseat. A six-year-old wanting to be in the Marines. How quaint.
“Tell him to go into football instead,” Jared said.
“Mama, is he in the Marines?” The boy’s voice was tissue-paper thin.
“Yeah, baby.”
60
“In war?”
Tiana asked Jared, “You been in war?”
“Can it, will you?” Jared snapped, though pulling the punch
a little. “Tell me how come you stay with a guy who knocks you around.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“You got a woman?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then you don’t know.”
Jared realized he was gunning the SUV too fast down Devonshire. He let up a little. If you’re going to crash, do it when nobody’s in the car with you.
“You seen your dad?” Tiana said.
“What are you talking about?” He knew what she was talking
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